Can You Whisper
by IcelandGirl812
Summary: Drabbles and a single oneshot written for Round 5 of the Twilight Twenty-Five Challenge.
1. 03: Black

**I've always wanted to partake in the TT25, but I've never signed up in time. This year, I finally got to sign up. Go figure that I'm so busy and full of ridiculous procrastination that I wait until the last week to get hoppin.  
><strong>

**So I'm apologizing in advance for spamming inboxes.**

**Endless thanks to my dearest Pancake, Vican, for... well, an endless list of things.  
><strong>

The Twilight Twenty-Five  
>thetwilight25[dot]com<p>

Prompt: 3, laundromat photo  
>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<br>Pairing/Main Character(s): Edward/Bella  
>Rating: T-ish<p>

Photo prompts can be viewed here: thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts

* * *

><p><strong>03.<strong>

It's the same thing, every Wednesday.

I walk in – he's there.

The next Wednesday, I walk in – he's there.

I'm only slightly ashamed to admit it's become a kind of ritual.

Today, Wednesday of course, I walk in. With a cup of coffee, even.

And yes, he's there.

"I can smell the sugar in that cup from over here."

"You got a problem with that?"

Laundry baskets are set atop machines and promptly forgotten.

"I like my coffee black."

"Like your soul?"

"Like your bra." That smile of his does strange things to my body.

"At least I'm wearing underwear."


	2. 08: Daydream

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 8, Daydream**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella, Lucy**  
><strong>Rating: K<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>08.<strong>

"Daddy, no!"

I froze mid-squat above the child-sized plastic, heart leaping straight into my mouth at her panicked words.

"What's wro-"

"You can't sit there, Daddy!" She clutched her favorite dolly tighter. "That's Isabella's seat."

My chest relaxed as I straightened back up. My baby wasn't even four yet; I didn't see a problem with her imaginary playmates.

"I'm sorry, Isabella." I leaned over and held a hand toward the chair, kissing thin air as if I were pressing my lips against actual skin. "Forgive my rude manners."

Lucy giggled from across the small table. "You made her blush, Daddy."


	3. 11: Tried

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 11, worth-fighting-for photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<strong>

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>11.<strong>

I don't think I've stopped thinking about you since I first saw you.

How cliché – love at first sight. Maybe even pathetic.

It's certainly pathetic how hard I've tried with you.

For you.

Night after night, week after week, and eventually month after month, I tried.

I tried to get your attention, tried to keep it once I had it, tried to win you over, to convince you I was worth it.

Tried to change you.

I almost thought it worked, too. Almost thought we'd gotten to where you wouldn't try to bed every pretty woman.

I was naïve. Silly.


	4. 05: Have

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 5, snowy-branch photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T<strong>

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>05.<strong>

His footsteps are almost silent across the lightly-packed snow, but she can _see_ him.

She watches from the bushes, watches as he gets nearer, as his eyes sharpen and darken.

And she hopes he can't see her, can't hear her, won't be able to find her even at all.

It's futile, though. Her brain and heart both whisper that to her.

Her hiding place isn't good enough, the trees are too sparse, the snow too abundant, and he's going to find her.

Going to catch her, to take her.

Have her.

She wishes she were more scared of that realization.


	5. 16: Lavish

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 16, Lavish**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: M<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>16.<strong>

He'll leave after this, say his goodbye and walk out.

I try not to focus on that, try to keep my concentration on him. On his hands – where they're going, what he's doing.

He likes to surprise me here, but surprises are too intimate for us.

Knowing that he tastes like man is too much. Or that he smells endlessly of fresh laundry.

Recognizing his sounds, registering his movements and his signals, it's still too much.

I've memorized the feel of him, surrounding me and covering me – claiming me and cherishing me, and even that's too much, far too intimate.


	6. 20: Vanish

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 20, Vanish**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Mom, Edward**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>20.<strong>

It's been fifteen years.

Fifteen years since my baby disappeared, since he was ripped from me, from my life.

The authorities were never of any help, could only suggest and imply that he'd run away with no intentions of being found.

But I knew better, knew him. Knew that there was a cause, a reason why he seemed to have evaporated into thin air.

Knew there was a culprit.

So I searched – everywhere, every day – for fifteen years.

I got desperate, latched onto anything, any crumb or gut instinct.

And that's how I found them, found him.

Vampires.

My son.


	7. 25: Create

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 25, wedding cake photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<strong>

**Photo prompts can be viewed here: thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>25.<strong>

It's beautiful.

Like always.

Some say she could take mud and create beauty.

But she stares across the room, above her work, and thinks she'll never be able to create something as beautiful as the swaying couple.

As love.

She doesn't realize she has it all wrong. It hasn't occurred to her that love isn't something you _create_.

Twenty feet away, a man ignores the dancing duo, gaze focused instead on the woman with the sad lips and longing eyes.

He wants to show her, to share everything she believes she'll never know, never have.

She doesn't even notice him.


	8. 14: Chaos

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 14, multiple-pictures photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T<strong>

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>14.<strong>

Shaky fingers let me in, wobbly legs help me find him.

He's on the floor, in the center of chaos.

Her pictures are scattered everywhere, her memories, her happiness, her art and her craft.

Her life.

I'm at a loss as I go to him, run on instinct as my hand slips into his hair.

Wet eyes meet mine, stricken and isolated, vulnerable but unashamed of it.

I don't hesitate, don't wonder or think. Just move into him, down to his lap.

My legs around his back, arms around his neck, hands against his head – encouraging him to my shoulder.


	9. 04: Playful

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 4, messy-bed photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: M-ish<strong>

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>04.<strong>

I never knew it could be like this.

That he could tackle me to the bed, tickle away all my breath.

I didn't know that we could be intense, could be so connected the rest of the world disappeared.

That we could be sweet and slow, savoring and sensuous.

Or that we could be comforting and sharing, a distraction from problems, silent promises kept secret in movements.

That we could be all those things was surprising enough.

Shocking, though, that after everything, after all of that, we could still be... _playful_.

Silly and fun, enjoying our moments, enjoying each other.


	10. 17: Lick

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 17, Lick**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: M<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>17.<strong>

He's slick in my hand, slippery as I move – up, down, twist around. Repeat.

The noises he's making, the way he's touching me in return, tell me I'm doing right.

I shift away, want to try something different. He protests, grips me tighter. I kiss him and tell him it's okay – I'm not going anywhere.

He still won't let go, leaves me no choice but to slowly shimmy my way farther down.

He grunts out a pained sound, maybe from my movements, maybe because he's caught on.

But it's nothing to the deep groan my tongue works out of him.


	11. 06: Ambivalence

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 06, Ambivalence**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella, Charlie**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>06.<strong>

In approximately three minutes, I'm supposed to be out there. Walking down that flower-strewn aisle.

But I'm not so sure I'm ready.

I'm not sure I want this.

Do I want this?

Do I love him enough?

Am I too young?

Do I _ever _even want to get married?

Do I want to be forever tied to someone?

To him?

Are we really right for each other?

Will we wind up getting divorced?

Will I regret marrying him?

Will I regret _not_ marrying him?

Will I find another?

Would I want another?

Would he?

"Bells, honey, you coming or not?"


	12. 02: Mess

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 02, broken-wine-glass photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: M-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>02.<strong>

Bella stares blankly at her kitchen table, at the mess all over it, and blinks.

Plates are scattered, there's broken glass, her favorite candles are turned on their sides, napkins and bits of paper are strewn about.

She's still staring when her sleepy-eyed boyfriend joins her.

"What did we do last night?"

He looks where she's looking, sees what she sees. He tugs at the rumpled shirt on his chest, runs a hand through his bed-head.

She notices the scratches first.

"And what happened to your hand?"

He looks down, looks back at her. Shrugs. "You were horny last night."


	13. 13: Memories

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 13, goodbye-summer photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>13.<strong>

It's my last day here, though it certainly doesn't feel like it.

On the back of his Vespa, with his leather against my cheek and my arms around him, it feels like this could never end.

And maybe it won't.

Maybe he'll visit me like he's promised, maybe I'll save up so I can come during break as I said I would.

Maybe he'll get a job in New York so he can move there.

Maybe I'll get the scholarship that will allow me to move here.

Either way, our time might end, but the memories will be mine forever.


	14. 18: Pitch

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 18, Pitch**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella/Edward**  
><strong>Rating: M-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>18.<strong>

She's curled into my side, all soft skin and welcoming curves.

"Tell me something embarrassing?" she breathes into my chest.

"How embarrassing are we talking?"

"Surprise me."

"Alright." I stroke up her spine, down – thinking. "They called me Erect Eddy until my junior year of high school, because my English teacher had good boobs and wore low-cut tops. I walked out of her class every day with a tent in my pants."

She snorts, loud in our quiet bubble. "Erect Eddy?"

"Better than 'Cum Cullen'."

More giggling, before she falls silent. "...Just _how_ good were hers?"

"Nothing on yours. Promise."


	15. 24: Test

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 24, barefoot-in-woods**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>24.<strong>

I feel like I've been walking for hours.

I can't feel my feet. I lost my shirt somewhere. I'm not sure how my shoes got into my hand.

I'm hot, my sweat mixing with the dirt coating my skin.

But I don't care, it's not important.

She's all that matters.

And finding her.

She's here somewhere, in here somewhere. I know it. She has to be.

I saw her walk this way, follow this trail. She wouldn't have gone far, wouldn't leave me like this.

She wouldn't leave me at all. No. She's just testing me. It's just a test.


	16. 10: Insipid

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 10, Insipid**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: K<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>10.<strong>

"No no, Edward." Bella takes the crayon from his hand and replaces it with another, ignoring his shocked frown. "You have to use different colors."

"But why?" They're both home from kindergarten – sick, and his naturally nasally voice has become even whinier than normal.

"Because it looks prettier. Duh."

"But boys aren't supposed to make pretty things."

Bella imitates her older sister by rolling her eyes. "That's the _point_ of coloring, Edward. Pretty, colored pictures."

"But blue _is_ a pretty color."

Edward's favorite word has been 'but' since he first learned how to talk.

"Not if it's too _much_ blue."


	17. 01: Hitching

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 1, waving-from-car photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella, brother**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>01.<strong>

It's not easy, hitchhiking.

You'd think more people would be kind and gracious to a bikini-clad girl with frizzed hair and cheap flip-flops.

Apparently not.

Apparently they think I could be hiding a knife somewhere in the tiny strings of this thing.

I'm hot and tired and almost want to throw myself in front of the next car and _make_ them stop.

The feeling is quadrupled when I see my brother's trademark white Beetle come roaring up the road.

I start waving my hands and jumping, shouting his name and yelling commands.

The bastard waves back, but keeps on driving.


	18. 09: Friction

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 09, Friction**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella/Edward**  
><strong>Rating: M-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>09.<strong>

He catches my eye, and I feel my shoulders tense up.

There shouldn't be looks like that. Not when my date's a foot away, talking to a colleague.

He sees my reaction, the way my eyes flick toward my date, and his posture turns annoyed, maybe even angry.

It just increases the heat, the fire emanating from him. Increases the way my body inclines, strains, yearns toward him. For him.

I look away, feel my muscles jump when he's suddenly _there_, filling my vision and all my senses.

He doesn't touch me. But he doesn't have to, doesn't need to.


	19. 12: Comfort

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 12, Sitting-on-branch photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>12.<strong>

This is her hiding place, her refuge.

He's not supposed to be here, not supposed to have followed her. He's not supposed to care.

Wordless, he reaches out, climbs up. And settles beside her.

She won't look at him, isn't sure she actually can.

He doesn't know what to make of her when she's silent like this, can't think of what to say or what to do, doesn't know how to console, how to fix.

Tentatively, his hand finds hers, flips it so they're entwined, palm to palm, wrists on rough bark.

It's slow and small, but she squeezes back.


	20. 07: Clandestine

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 07, Clandestine**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella/Edward**  
><strong>Rating: M-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>07.<strong>

"Jeez. It's like you've never stolen before." He rolls his eyes. Like it's ludicrous.

"And what if I _haven't_?" I whisper harshly as we tiptoe down the hall.

He looks at me. Just looks.

"Fuck off, Edward."

"We're stealing condoms from my brother, Bella. Not the crown jewels."

"But I'm feeling guilty."

"Well do you want to have sex tonight, or not? Because either we steal these, or we go celibate."

I think about it for two seconds. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm rolling over on you."

"You'll be rolling over on me if we _don't_ get caught."


	21. 22: With

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 22, butterly-in-hand photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>22.<strong>

She doesn't know I'm there. Here.

She can't see me, can't even feel me.

But I'm with her all the same. Every step, every mile, every mountain and every breath.

The Elders say I'm smothering her. That she doesn't know it, and I may not realize it, but it's happening all the same.

They say I should let her go – set her free.

They don't understand that I _can't_.

That I'm nothing but a myth and a wishful memory without her, that I only fly when she's near.

That I'll cease to exist if I'm not with her, beside her.


	22. 15: Enough

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 15, I'm-sorry photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella/Edward**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>15.<strong>

It's in her favorite café that he finally finds her.

She's crying, and he's once again at a loss for what to do.

Sniffling, she looks up at him. Waves a now tear-stained and smudged sheet of paper.

"You?" is what she gets out.

"Who else?" He signed it and everything.

"You hate writing by hand. On paper. In pen."

He shrugs. Doesn't she know that she's more important to him than hand cramps or ink stains or dead trees?

"I wish I could–... I wish it was–... I'm sorry it's not more."

She fingers its creased corner. "It's enough."


	23. 21: Purge

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 21, storm-and-lifesaver photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>21.<strong>

"I'm so _sick _of this, Edward!"

"So sick of what?"

But the words are slurred. His eyes are clouded. He's listing to the side.

It's painful. It makes me want to cry, to puke, to somehow physically purge the pain from my body.

I thought that lashing torrent, the feelings of betrayal and abandonment – the disregard and indifference to my pleas, threats and tears, had lessened.

Or maybe I just assumed they had.

Just as I assumed he'd finally wake up one day, would be my hero and my saving grace again.

Instead, I wake up and he's drunk. Again.


	24. 23: Unmasked

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 23, hands-over-eyes photo**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Bella/Edward**  
><strong>Rating: T-ish<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>23.<strong>

All I can see is that he doesn't have a nose ring, has green eyes, and his hair combats that gel.

I don't know who he is, I don't know his name, and I couldn't kiss him right now.

Not because I don't want to or am scared, but because his lips aren't accessible.

"On three?" His voice is deep, just the slightest bit scratchy.

I reach for the flimsy mask shielding only my eyes and nose, wondering if he's already recognized me, if he already knows me. "Yeah. Three."

We take deep breaths together, count down quietly.

And unmask.


	25. 19: Tingle

**This is my one and only oneshot for this challenge. A fact I'm quite ashamed of, to be honest.  
><strong>

**The Twilight Twenty-Five**  
><strong>thetwilight25[dot]com<strong>

**Prompt: 19, Tingle**  
><strong>Pen Name: IcelandGirl812<strong>  
><strong>PairingMain Character(s): Edward/Bella**  
><strong>Rating: M<br>**

**Photo prompts can be viewed here:**** thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts**

* * *

><p><strong>19.<strong>

There is a crackle in this room.

It slithers across the carpet, floats through the air, slides into pores.

It's undeniable and can't be ignored.

_Won't_ be ignored.

But they try to ignore it, the two people occupying the room.

A desk separates him from her, her from him – a precaution, safeguard against anything of the last time.

Against that lack of control, forgetting of boundaries.

They were too close, last time. Too near, too absorbed and too surrounded with the other.

Things happened that shouldn't have, things were felt that shouldn't have been, wants were acknowledged that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

Because she'd been beside him, leaning over his shoulder, attempting to focus on the black words on white paper before him. But her cheek had brushed his hair, his shoulder had brushed against her chest – their fingers had reached for the same pen and that'd been it.

Just that touch and she'd forgotten, he'd been lost, and ignorance was a thing of the past.

So now they're apart, sturdy, polished mahogany shielding them from each other. Papers are scattered between, adding even more distance.

Or trying to, at least.

Like they're both trying. Pretending.

Pretending they don't feel the spark, the draw, the tension between them – pretending they've never felt relief from it, even as that relief brought more craving.

His voice cool and steady, his hand only the least bit shaky with the fight for control, he asks her about the number difference of two accounts.

She watches his lips, though. Thinks of his mouth.

Remembers.

He's not looking at her, gaze focused down as he shuffles through paper-stacks to find the one he wants.

More words leave his mouth, but all she hears is his voice – that smooth flow that reaches places, silk that floods into every corner and crevice.

A shiver skates down her spine, settles into tension in the small of her back, a clenching of her thigh muscles and goose bumps across her arms.

He says her name, in the way only he manages to be able to do – lips seeming to touch the word as though it were actual, tongue caressing each individual letter – and asks if she's alright.

She nods and stands, not realizing what seeing the full length of her does to him.

"I think I've just been sitting too long."

It's with force that she keeps her arms from winding around herself as she crosses to the windows. They span from floor-to-ceiling in his office, offer a beautiful view of the city and the storm engulfing it.

His steps are unnervingly silent, but his presence is loud when she feels it behind her, almost beside her.

The tug is there, incessant and unwavering.

"I love the city when it rains. The smell and the clarity, the shadows and secrets created by the clouds."

Her words, her confession, are quietly given. Maybe that's why they stir him, move his feet, his body, tear apart the last threads of his careful control.

She's staring straight ahead, admiring her favorite weather for the city, wishing she had more courage.

The fabric of his suit rustles, speaks, gives him away as he raises his arm over her shoulder. His palm lies flat against the cool of the glass, leaving an imprint of warmth and, no doubt, some smudges. It braces his weight as he relinquishes, gives in, leans toward her.

But he's not touching her, not yet.

He needs more, needs something.

"Please."

And though it's one word, a single syllable, whispered out on a quiet breath, it's everything.

It's all and it's only; it's _it_.

He becomes a whirl of motion, a mass of incoherencies mumbled into her skin as the want swirls, as her hands anchor him.

Clear words and intelligible sentences don't matter to her, not in this moment. What matters is him, what she needs is him.

Needs the feel and push, pull and pressure everywhere she can possibly get it. The rush and stutter, take and have, lips and fingers and shuddering.

Whether it's glass or wood, desk or window, it will be hard.

Hard and fast and chaotic, taking in order to get, feeling nothing but everything.

Later, because _later_ is an inevitability now, there will be words in movements, a clearer voice in the slowness, the savoring.

That's not this, though. This is a thundering, a pounding – a grasping and seizing that isn't gentle and doesn't take its time.

It's like its own entity, barreling through them both and leaving a taste for fire. Fire like his hands, fire like her eyes, burning like their lips.

She is all curves and softness against him, subtle firm and hidden strength. He bends around her, caging and keeping, responding to her arching, her testing.

Things are in their way, obstacles holding them back. Not just in the casual, tailored Italian, or the expensive but understated sheath dress.

But in other ways, other things, things unsaid and things bigger than words or wants.

A stillness settles, only the sound of their mutual breathing crowding the office as each of them weighs the options.

As they both consider.

"How much does it matter?" she wonders, leaving the silence behind.

His fingers tense and tighten, though his body never drifts from hers.

"What's the worth ratio?" She's trying to be logical about it, trying to appeal to his rational side.

He wouldn't even begin to know. Not with her so close, with all of her against him, with her skin only a small shift away from his mouth.

She destroys his ability to reason – with a touch, a look, a word or spark, she crumbles the foundations of his carefully practiced _logic._

Slowly, deliberately, almost meticulously, he begins to move again. Competent and graceful fingers find their way to the hem of her dress, sneak underneath.

On any other day, she's worn stockings to cover her. But not now, not this time. There's no artificial silk restraining him from the silk of her legs, no barrier separating her from the sinking warmth of his hands.

He's taller than her – leaner, longer, and it's easy for him to reach, to find, to uncover.

She's not seeing the city now, not noticing the buildings or the rain, the flurry of clouds or flashes of lightning. Instead, she watches his reflection in the glass, watches him as he watches her.

It's not the fast, the urgent as before. But it's not lingering, not hesitating or prolonging.

It's simple want, simple take.

Uncomplicated and complex.


End file.
